Page 11 of Ruin Me, Daddy

It could have. It was a rental, after all. But the fridge and pantry had both been completely bare when he’d moved in. No, he’d bought the goddamn grape jelly all on his own, because it was her favorite. He hadn’t even made the conscious decision to do so, but now that he thought about it, his kitchen was chock-full of her favorite foods.

God, he was pathetic.

“Just eat.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” She grinned, the gesture a bit too knowing for his comfort, and took another bite of her sandwich.

They ate in silence, which he was grateful for. His emotions were a little too raw to handle too many more of her questions. And as they ate, that silence stretched into something familiar. Comfortable, unlike the tension-filled silence they’d shared back at the club. By the time he popped the last bite of sandwich in his mouth, he could almost convince himself it was just another night on the road, no different than the hundreds of others they’d shared over the past decade.

“I’ll clean up,” she said when they were done, rising from her chair on unsteady legs.

“Stop.” The command came easily, too easily, but it worked. She froze in the act of reaching for her plate and glass, swaying slightly on her feet. “Sit. I’ll get the dishes.”

“You cooked, I’ll clean. It’s only fair.”

“Silver, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll sit your ass down and wait until I give you permission to move.”

Thankfully, she didn’t argue, though she did pout when she dropped back onto her chair. “Bossy asshole.”

“Stubborn brat,” he shot back as he cleared the table.

“I’m not that drunk. I coulda washed the dishes.”

“Uh-huh.” With the dishes rinsed and stacked in the dishwasher, he crossed the kitchen once more, holding his hand out to help her up.

Luckily for him, there was a bedroom on the first floor of the house. He’d claimed it as his own just for the ease of access, but giving it up for one night was a small price to pay if it meant not maneuvering her up the stairs. And his luck continued when she didn’t fight him as he untied her boots and slid them from her feet.

Need, as hot and fierce as it was unwanted, slammed into him at the sight of her long bare legs, left completely exposed by the short skirt she’d worn to the club tonight. Even though it wasn’t what she would normally wear to play in—thank fuck, because he wasn’t sure he could have controlled his reaction if he’d thought she’d been there to play—the outfit still had his mouth watering at the memory of how she’d tasted the one and only time he’d had his mouth on her.

Shoving the memories and the troublesome lust that came with them to the side, he grabbed her ankles, lifting her legs a bit so he could slide them under the duvet. She was half asleep by the time he pulled the covers up around her, but she stirred when he couldn’t resist the urge to brush a stray curl away from her face.

“Ice?” she murmured, not bothering to open her eyes.

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry.”

Those two words were like an arrow straight to his heart. Not just the words, but the sadness in her voice as she said them.

They both had their reasons to be sorry, him most of all. He should have walked away from her that night at Roulette, the moment he’d spun her name. Should have kept his fucking mouth shut, should have kept those old feelings bottled up the way he had for sixteen goddamn years, and they wouldn’t be in this situation.

But she wasn’t in any condition to have that conversation and, frankly, neither was he. “Go to sleep, Sil.”

“Mmm. Yes, Daddy.”

Fuck, she was killing him. It took everything he had in him to step away from the bed instead of sliding in next to her.

He grabbed a spare blanket and pillow from the linen closet in the primary bathroom and made himself a bed on the couch. And told himself it was just so he could be nearby if she needed him, and not because he couldn’t stomach the thought of putting any more distance between them than absolutely necessary.

CHAPTER 5

SILVER

Alcohol was the devil.

Which was why, despite her ‘rockstar’ status, she rarely indulged. At least, not to the level she had the night before. Maybe a drink or two to unwind after a show, but she’d given up binge drinking before she’d even been old enough to get the stuff legally.

And as she pried her eyes open and squinted at the sunlight streaming through the slats of the blinds, the pain piercing her skull rather violently reminded her why she so rarely drank more than one or two shots of whiskey in a given night.

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